Monday, February 20, 2006


From time to time, in my rhyme or sometimes straight, I want to share with you moments in my life, both good and bad, about my mother and my dad, my brother, sister and other members of my family. I want you to know me as I know myself, and I'll keep nothing hidden on a back shelf. If some of what I say turns you away, that's OK. It won't all be pretty. If you'll pardon the expression, some of it will be downright shitty.

Some who know me will say, "Spare me the therapy. Leave me alone. I've got troubles of my own." But haven't we all? This is my call. If you want to share, anonymously, be my guest. We've all got things to get off our chest. But first let me tell you about my mother, perhaps unlike your own or any other you have known.

Goldie was a natural born musician. According to what she told me. she sat down at a piano at the age of three. and started playing a yiddish melody her mother sang constantly. And then she began to sing, haltingly at first, the very words her mother did. A kid of three? When she sang, her mother turned to her husband ands said, "A gift from God." All he did was nod and walk away.

That night as they lay in their bed all he said was,:"What Goldie has is not a gift, It is a curse, Maybe worse."

"But why?" Sarah asked. "Why, Joseph? Why?"

Joe Ginzberg turned and stared at the wall. He did not reply. He breathed a sigh and went to sleep. The next morning he went to the synagogue and prayed. "I am afraid," he whispered in God's ear. "I fear this should not be. It will cause her pain. I cannot explain how or why, But it will happen before I die."


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